Chapter 6 - RETURN TO ST. AMBROSE
At 1:03 a.m., Willa walked through the employee entrance of St. Ambrose Medical Center wearing blue scrubs and Naomi’s spare ID badge turned backward against her chest.
Three years had passed.
The smell was exactly the same.
Disinfectant.
Coffee.
Plastic tubing.
Fear.
Her knees nearly weakened.
She remembered the last time she had walked these halls.
Two administrators had escorted her from the building while coworkers pretended not to watch.
Someone had boxed her belongings.
Someone else had whispered that she had killed Harold Fisk.
Now her photograph was on every Chicago news station for allegedly killing Everett Kane.
History had developed a cruel sense of humor.
Naomi walked beside her.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Good. You’d worry me if you were.”
They entered the service elevator.
Willa’s old locker had been in a basement changing room scheduled for renovation.
Naomi had checked the facility records.
The lockers still existed.
At least for another four days.
The elevator opened.
They moved quickly.
Locker room C.
Rows of dented metal doors.
Willa counted.
Seventeen.
Eighteen.
Nineteen.
Her locker.
She reached for the handle.
Locked.
Naomi produced bolt cutters.
“Doctors carry those now?”
“Only irresponsible ones.”
The lock snapped.
Willa opened the door.
Empty.
Her heart sank.
Then she remembered the loose panel.
Years ago, nurses hid emergency chocolate behind it because housekeeping kept stealing food from unlocked lockers.
Willa pulled the metal insert forward.
Something dropped.
A small brass tag.
Stamped with two numbers.
Naomi smiled.
“Please tell me that means something.”
“Not yet.”
A sound came from the corridor.
Footsteps.
They shut the locker.
Two security officers entered.
“Dr. Reyes?”
Naomi smiled.
“Hi.”
“What are you doing down here?”
“Searching for archived personal property.”
“At one in the morning?”
“Night shift.”
The guard looked at Willa.
“And you are?”
Willa kept her face turned partially away.
Before Naomi could answer, a voice behind them said, “She’s with me.”
Willa froze.
Grant Allison stood in the doorway.
Silver hair.
Tailored navy suit.
Same controlled posture she remembered.
He had barely aged.
“Mr. Allison,” Naomi said.
“Doctor.”
He smiled at Willa.
“Ms. Hayes.”
Neither guard moved.
Allison knew.
Of course he knew.
“You caused quite a disturbance tonight,” he said.
Willa glanced at the guards.
Allison followed her gaze.
“Gentlemen, give us a moment.”
They obeyed.
That frightened Willa more than if they had stayed.
Naomi moved beside her.
Allison smiled.
“Still protective, Naomi?”
“Still corrupt, Grant?”
His smile widened.
“I always admired your lack of tact.”
Willa held the brass tag behind her back.
“What happened to Harold Fisk?”
Allison looked almost disappointed.
“Three years and that’s the first question you ask?”
“You murdered him.”
“Alan administered the medication.”
Willa felt ice settle in her chest.
He had admitted it casually.
“Why use my signature?”
“You were convenient.”
“You destroyed my life.”
“I redirected suspicion.”
“You knew Harold gave me something.”
“I suspected.”
His eyes moved toward her hand.
“Apparently I was correct.”
Naomi stepped forward.
“Back away.”
Allison sighed.
“Naomi, you are a talented physician. Don’t end your career for this woman.”
“She didn’t end hers. You did.”
Allison’s expression hardened.
“You know remarkably little about the world you’ve entered.”
Willa looked him in the eye.
“Then educate me.”
“All right.”
He buttoned his jacket.
“Everett Kane was never a good man.”
“I know.”
“He built his empire using violence, coercion and fear.”
“I know.”
“He ruined competitors.”
“I know.”
“He bribed officials.”
“Probably.”
Allison frowned at her lack of reaction.
Willa continued.
“But you’re not trying to convince me Everett is evil. You’re trying to convince me your evil is reasonable.”
For the first time, Allison’s composure slipped.
Naomi smiled.
Willa asked, “Where is Sterling?”
“Recovering his family’s assets.”
“He thinks Everett is dead.”
“So does Chicago.”
Willa’s pulse jumped.
Allison continued.
“A dead man is easier to manage.”
“Everett isn’t dead.”
Allison stared at her.
Silence.
Willa realized her mistake.
She had confirmed it.
Allison slowly smiled.
“Thank you.”
Naomi cursed under her breath.
Willa backed toward the exit.
Allison reached into his coat.
Naomi grabbed a metal stool.
But he did not draw a weapon.
He removed a phone.
“Mr. Kane is alive,” he said into it.
Willa ran.
Naomi followed.
They sprinted through the basement corridor.
Alarm doors began locking electronically.
“Allison controls security!” Naomi shouted.
“Stairs!”
They turned.
A guard appeared.
Naomi shoved a laundry cart into him.
Willa hit the stairwell.
They climbed two floors.
Another door locked.
Third floor.
Locked.
Fourth.
Open.
They emerged into pediatrics.
Children slept behind glass doors.
Willa slowed instinctively.
No running.
No violence here.
Naomi pointed toward a family waiting area.
They crossed it.
Then Willa saw the wall.
Rows of donor plaques.
One name stopped her.
THE HAROLD FISK PEDIATRIC TRANSPORT FUND.
She stared.
Naomi grabbed her arm.
“Willa.”
“Why would Allison create a fund in Harold’s name?”
“I don’t know.”
Willa looked at the brass tag.
Room 314?
Locker 29?
Something clicked.
“Pediatric transport.”
“What?”
“Harold was a freight auditor. Allison used medical transports.”
Willa stared toward the pediatric elevators.
“314 isn’t a room.”
“What is it?”
“It’s an ambulance fleet number.”
Naomi understood.
They ran toward the underground ambulance bay.
Fleet vehicle 314 sat near the rear wall.
Old.
Decommissioned.
Willa climbed inside.
Cabinets.
Equipment brackets.
Storage compartments.
“Twenty-nine,” she whispered.
Naomi found a numbered panel.
Inside was a lockbox.
The brass tag fit perfectly.
Willa opened it.
A black ledger sat inside.
And beneath it—
A photograph.
Everett Kane.
Harold Fisk.
Alan Whitfield.
Grant Allison.
And one more person.
A woman Willa recognized instantly.
Her mother.
Ruth Hayes.
Willa stared at the image.
The photograph had been taken at least twenty years earlier.
Her mother stood beside Grant Allison smiling as though they knew each other well.
May you like
Written on the back were five words.
RUTH KNOWS WHERE THE CHILDREN WENT.
